


A True Gryffindor

by backinyourbox



Series: Raindrops on Roses [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2018-10-29 11:22:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10852959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backinyourbox/pseuds/backinyourbox
Summary: The sun rises over Hogwarts' broken walls. They've won, but the work has only just begun.This story is set in the Raindrops on Roses Universe (prereading optional!) and spans a hundred years after the Battle of Hogwarts, through the eyes of Neville Longbottom.





	1. Colin

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set in the Raindrops on Roses universe. You don’t have to have read that story in order to enjoy this one, but for those that have, this will fill in some of the gaps regarding canon characters not mentioned or only mentioned in passing in RoR. This story will be more of a series of scenes spanning the years after the Battle of Hogwarts to the end of RoR and beyond. Unlike RoR this story will contain S-E-X, and not in just in a fade-to-black sort of way. You have been warned!

The sun shining through the windows of Hogwarts was bright and hot by mid-morning. Lots of people had already gone home; to Hogsmeade, those that lived there, or to the train station, or far enough away from the grounds that they could Apparate away. Some would find empty houses, or no house left at all, some would have to start searching for people they had lost over the year. Some would never be found.

The few Hogwarts students remaining in the castle had retreated to the dormitories or the hospital wing for some sleep, exhausted after defending the castle all night. But Neville knew he wouldn’t sleep. His Gran had said she was going to go and check on the house, but didn’t seem to expect him to come with her, and he was glad he didn’t have to beg to stay. She even gave him a bony hug around the shoulders before she left, and said “I’m very proud of you,” quietly into his ear. He ought to have been pleased. Any other time he would have been overjoyed. Except that he couldn’t manage to be proud of himself, at all. The euphoria of battle had long since worn off. People were dead, and there was no one left to fight. He just felt empty.

When she had gone, he busied himself by helping to move the bodies into the antechambers - Death Eaters in one, the Hogwarts fighters laid out respectfully in another. It was only a very small comfort that there were a lot more enemies dead than otherwise, when you included the werewolves. The Dementors had all vanished. The centaurs were taking care of two dead giants laid out in the grounds. Neville forced himself to look into Greyback’s face; his eyes were closed and he looked strangely peaceful, not at all frightening. He wasn’t sure whether he or Ron had cast the actual spell which had caused a half-ton of masonry to fall on him, and maybe it was better that he didn’t know.

McGonagall took the job of moving Voldemort’s body into a small room all on its own. Neville wondered why. He couldn’t help imagining that stiff white corpse climbing off the table it was laid on and clawing at the walls in attempts to get out. Every moment that went by, the Dark Lord’s death seemed more incredible, as though it had happened in a daydream he’d had rather than right in front of his eyes. He had the disturbing urge to go in there and kick the corpse in the back, to make sure. He did his best to cast that thought from his mind, but it kept creeping back every time he glanced towards the door.

He asked Professor Flitwick what he could do to help. To his relief, Flitwick didn’t argue with him or turn him down, instead he gave specific instructions on tasks that would help make the castle safe until proper repairs could be done. Neville did them eagerly, even though the effort made him sweat, and he had to stop every now and then to shake off a dizzy spell. His charms-work had never been exemplary, but he hoped his patch jobs would be enough to stop the walls that were still standing from coming down around them. Still, no one was allowed near the east wing, where the Greenhouses were, due to the damage.

As he was pushing aside debris to make a usable corridor through the Entrance Hall, his foot knocked aside something which, when he picked it up, turned out to be a roll of film. Carefully, he took it into the antechamber and, moving aside the sheet that covered Colin’s body, pressed it gently into his hand.

Around dinnertime, Flitwick found him and forced him to stop. “Eat!” he demanded in his squeaky voice, pointing to where some people were congregating in the Great Hall. He realised belatedly that his stomach was growling. How long since he had eaten? He hadn’t even realised when the air cooled and the light dimmed in the Entrance Hall. Shaking stone dust out of his hair, he trudged wearily towards the candlelit dining room.

The House tables were still out, but like that morning, everyone was sitting together, this time all at the Ravenclaw table. There weren’t even enough people left in the castle to fill it. There were some students, teachers, and some Hogsmeade people who had stayed to help, and one or two people in green Healer’s robes who had been sent for. Neville slid quickly into a seat next to where Luna and Parvati were sitting, strangely, very close together. He didn’t think they were friends. He couldn’t remember them ever even having a conversation. Luna smiled at him as he sat down. “Hi,” she said, softly.

Parvati looked terrible, up close. Her usually flawless plait was coming out in tangles, her eyes were puffy and red, and there was a bandage around her right hand, forcing her to stab clumsily at her food with her left. “How’s Lavender?” he asked her.

It took a moment for her to answer. “Not good,” she said eventually, looking down at her plate. “Her parents came. They’re sitting with her.”

Neville couldn’t think of anything else to say. He felt stupid and useless. Parvati looked as though she were about to cry, or she would, if she had any tears left.

He tried to concentrate on eating, instead. The food didn’t taste of much, somehow, but he knew he had to eat. He was forcing his way through a second beef sandwich when there was a stirring at the other end of the table, and a hush fell over the Great Hall. Harry was there, in the doorway, with Hermione standing firmly by his side. A few people nearby stood up, as though to make space for them, but Hermione glared them down and led Harry to the far end, where Neville and the others were sitting. She sat down next to Luna, and tugged Harry down on her other side. After an awkward pause, the meal resumed, but there was still a strange difference in the atmosphere. People spoke in whispers, and Neville could feel the stares in their direction. Harry wasn’t paying attention; Neville supposed he was either too used to that sort of thing by now, or he was deliberately ignoring it.

Hermione spooned a large portion of food onto Harry’s plate and pushed it towards him. He started eating obediently. He looked as though he’d only just gotten out of bed, his clothes rumpled and his hair even scruffier than usual.

“Where’s Ron?” Neville asked, unable to help himself. It was strange to only see two thirds of their trio together.

“With his family,” Hermione said shortly, and Neville felt a hard lump in his throat as he remembered. He had to stop himself from blurting out an apology; he hadn’t forgotten, exactly, but Fred hadn’t been among the bodies he’d so carefully helped to lay out. Of course, the Weasleys would have taken him with them. Ginny would be there too, he thought, with another pang. He now considered Ginny to be one of his best friends, and he hadn’t even thought of her all day. He’d hardly thought of anything; it had seemed safer that way. Now he only wished there was something - anything - he could do.

Nearby, Professor McGonagall was sitting with the rest of them - odd to see her at a student table, but everything was odd, so it hadn’t stood out until now - talking quietly to Professor Slughorn. Neville was only half aware of her getting up, until she came over to them with her hands folded in her sleeves and sat down sidesaddle on the bench next to him, where there was an empty space. “Miss Granger, Mr Potter,” she said, looking across the table at them. “I trust you slept well?”

"Better than lately," Harry muttered, through a mouthful of baked potato, and without looking up at her. Under other circumstances Hermione certainly would have told him off for bad manners, but now she only nodded distractedly at McGonagall, watching Harry carefully out of the corner of her eye while fiddling unenthusiastically with her own food. McGonagall, unwilling perhaps to press the issue under the circumstances, turned to the rest of them. “Miss Patil, you look as though you haven’t been to bed at all,” she admonished.

Parvati shook her head, her messy plait falling over her shoulder and nearly falling in her soup. “I was with Lavender, Professor,” she said, barely audible.

“I see.” Neville thought McGonagall rather looked as though she would like to give Parvati a hug, even though he’d never seen her be physically affectionate with anyone before. “Well, once you have eaten, I insist you get some sleep, either in your own bed or in the Hospital Wing. And have that hand looked at.I have asked Madam Pomfrey to assist anyone who asks, now that there are some other Healers here to help with the badly injured.”

“Neville hasn’t slept either, Professor,” Luna piped up suddenly.

Neville, who had been quite comfortable staying out of McGonagall’s attention, glared at her. “Tattletale.”

Luna shrugged. “Well, you haven’t.”

"I've been busy,” he protested. “Anyway I'm not tired." It was true - he hadn't so much as napped in two full days and a night, but he was still running on adrenaline. His arms and back were aching from all the spell work, but he felt strongly that he couldn't sleep unless someone physically knocked him out.

“Parvati says you’ve been sleeping in a hammock for a month,” Luna argued, so directly that he was rather startled. “That’s not good for anyone.”

“Mr Longbottom…” McGonagall sighed.

“I’m fine Professor, really,” Neville said quickly. “I want to help.”

“According to Professor Flitwick, you have been ‘helping’ for nearly fourteen hours,” McGonagall said shortly. “And you really ought to have that cut looked at before you scar.”

“I think it’s a bit late for that,” Neville murmured. Madam Pomfrey could stop a wound from scarring if it was magically healed quickly enough, but the long deep gash down his face was already a month old. He’d already resigned himself to living with it forever.

“Nevertheless,” McGonagall said, unswayed. “Hospital wing, immediately after you have eaten. No arguments.”

Left with no choice, Neville shrugged. “Fine,” he muttered, in a way that he would never have done, a year ago. Maybe he _was_ tired.

McGonagall stood up gracefully. “I will let your impertinence slide this once, under the circumstances,” she said, as she moved away. Belatedly, Neville wondered if _she_ had gotten any sleep. The woman was in her sixties, and she had been up all night as much as the rest of them. Still, it didn’t stop him feeling irrationally annoyed at Luna.

“I can’t believe you told on me,” he muttered to her out of the corner of his mouth.

“You think she wasn’t watching you?” Luna rolled her eyes. “You were next in line for a scolding anyway.”

Neville looked at the others, hoping for support, but neither Harry or Parvati appeared to be listening, and Hermione looked as though she might like to agree. He pushed the rest of his sandwich away, angrily. “Fine,” he snapped, nearly tripping over the bench as he struggled up. There was a dull ache in his back, his muscles straining, but he ignored it and stormed off.

As soon as he exited into the Entrance Hall, he regretted his outburst. Cool evening air was wafting in through the broken windows, and it soothed the irrational burst of fury faster than he could make it to the stairs.

He caught hold of the bannister, but his legs were suddenly shaky, and he didn’t think he could lift them onto the first step. Instead he went shakily along the wall, until he couldn’t go any further. In a dark niche he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. He felt heavy, but his heart was still racing. The bruises on his face throbbed unpleasantly, though he had barely noticed them all day. He wasn't sure how long he was slumped there, but it might have been only a few minutes until someone came up beside him. He recognised the smell of corks and oranges without having to look up.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn't mean to snap.”

“I know.” She put a hand lightly on his shoulder. “Do you want help? You should really be in bed.”

Neville looked up blearily at the silvery moonlight shining through the broken windows. Had it really been fourteen hours? it seemed incredible that it was only that morning that he had seen - they had all seen - Harry finally defeat the Dark Lord. And yet at the same time, there was so much still to do. "I really don't think I can sleep," he muttered, turning back to her. His body might have given in to exhaustion, but his mind was still racing. He knew that if he closed his eyes to sleep, all he would see were the things he’d been trying desperately _not_ to think about all day.

"Didn't say you had to sleep," Luna said, raising one eyebrow. Her eyes glimmered in the dark, reflecting the light of her wand which she held out in front of her.

"Did you just make a joke?" he asked, taken aback once again.

She cocked her head to one side, as if thinking about it. "Was it funny?"

He smiled, despite himself. Two years ago he might have been flummoxed, and struggled to come up with a stammering answer. Now, it was just Luna. Ginny was the only other one he could really talk to, and she’d been gone for four months. "Why aren't you in bed then?" he asked, giving up. "If you're so clever."

"I was looking for you." She blew on the end of her wand, as if it were a candle, and the light went out. She tucked it back behind her ear, where she always kept it. “Someone had to make sure you were being sensible.”

“Well.. thanks,” Neville sighed, biting back a comment about how she was the last person to comment on whether or not he was being sensible, “I'm fine."

"No you're not."

He hesitated. "No, I'm not.” he said finally, feeling the weight of the things he’d been doing that day sitting heavy in the pit of his stomach. “Colin's dead. So many of the others are hurt... and I'm... I'm..."

"Sad," she finished his sentence for him. It wasn't the word he would have used, but the truth of it hammered into his heart as if she'd punctuated it with a blasting hex.

"Yeah," he breathed, his fingers clenching and unclenching. "I suppose that's... that's how you say it."

Outside, a cloud must have moved across the moon. It was suddenly so dark that he could only see a faint outline of her as she stepped closer, and he felt a small hand twist into the fabric of his sleeve, and then, suddenly, they were kissing.

He didn't know whose idea it was, and frankly he didn't care. A moment ago they hadn't been kissing, but now they were, and this moment was a lot more bearable than the one before it. It wasn't fairytale peck-on-the-lips kissing either, but deep, and hurried, and desperate, and Luna... her hands were on his shoulders, and then in his hair, and his hands were in her robes and under her shirt before he could even think.

Snogging Luna, he didn't have to think about everyone that had died, about Professor Lupin and Fred Weasley and poor Colin, and all the others, about how he had felt when Hagrid had carried Harry out of the forest, about how he hadn't got to fight Bellatrix, about the look on Voldemort's face when he sentenced him, Neville, to death... about all the bodies he’d covered that morning, the grief-stricken faces of the few family members who had come to collect them, later….

It was all Luna. That moment, and the next moment, and the softness of her cheek against his that hadn't shaved in two days, and the sweetness of her mouth, and the nimble movement of her wicked hands - not that his were any better, his Gran certainly wouldn't approve of what he was doing, and now he wasn't thinking about anything else except Luna, with her wild hair and her weird necklace and how somehow she made everything easy, even when it wasn't.  

\---

When he woke up he was in a bed in the Hospital Wing, still fully clothed, with Luna curled up beside him. It felt odd, but not unpleasant. Her hair tickled his nose. When he sat up, carefully, his face no longer throbbed. He picked up a mirror from the chest beside the bed and examined his reflection. The bruises were gone. The cut on his face had now fully healed but it had, as he had expected, left a thin white scar through his left eyebrow, down his cheek and down to his chin. He knew he was lucky not to have lost an eye.

He looked around, recognising a few of the other patients. A curtain surrounded one bed near the end of the ward - he assumed it was Lavender’s. Directly across from him, Justin Finch-Fletchley’s face looked as pale as the pillow beneath, contrasted by his dark hair. Neville didn’t even remember seeing him in the battle. Perhaps he’d been hurt early on.

Luna didn’t stir as he got up, and he left her to sleep. He’d gotten, he guessed, a good ten hours of sleep based on the position of the sun in the sky as he walked down the empty, rubble-strewn corridor and down the stairs to the Entrance Hall. “Ah, Longbottom,” McGonagall’s voice from behind made him jump. “You’re looking a little less worse for wear.”

Neville reached up automatically to touch his face, and felt rather silly for it. “Thanks, Professor,” he said, shuffling his foot in the dust left by the mess he’d helped to clean up the day before. Healed up he might be, but he was still wearing the clothes he’d fought in; he felt decidedly scruffy in front of the acting Headmistress. “I’m sorry if I was rude, yesterday,” he added, recalling his behaviour with not a little mortification. “I was… you know…”

“Apology accepted.” She gave him a brief, appraising sort of look, then beckoned. “Come with me a moment.”

Befuddled, he fell into step beside her as they climbed up the marble staircase, back the way he had come, and kept going up until they reached the entrance to the Headmaster’s office. Without the need for a password, the statue stood aside automatically as they approached. The staircase took them up to the office, where Neville had visited only twice before, the last time being the failed attempt to steal the Sword of Gryffindor. Oh yes, that had gone very well, he chided himself for the hundredth time as the door opened for McGonagall. Whyever had he thought _that_ was a good idea?

The sword, it turned out, had since been returned to the office. It was back on its stand, shining clean, with no trace of snake blood remaining on the blade. Neville found himself drawn to it; he couldn’t resist taking a step closer, and reaching out a hand to touch the hilt.

“Perhaps you should take it,” said McGonagall, lowering herself slowly into the chair behind the desk. “The Sorting Hat certainly seemed to think you were worthy of it,” she went on, ignoring the shocked look on his face.

“Oh - no,” he said, quickly. “No, it belongs here. I was only borrowing it, or something. Anyway if anyone was going to have it it would be Harry, right?”

McGonagall smiled thinly. “I’ve been meaning to ask,” she said, folding her hands neatly on the desk in front of her. “Did the hat say anything to you, when it gave you the sword?”

Neville flushed.

“Well? Don’t be bashful, boy.”

“Um. It said, er… ‘a true Gryffindor,'" Neville mumbled, embarrassed nevertheless. “I don’t think it was a compliment, though. It was gloating.”

“Oh?”

Neville shrugged. “I begged for ages for it to put me in Hufflepuff. It never listened.”

“Ah. I remember it did take an abnormally long time to decide. We must be glad for its stubbornness in this instance, however.”

“I don’t know. I probably would have got into a lot less trouble in Hufflepuff.”

McGonagall smiled. A real, genuine smile of the sort he’d only seen on her face a couple of times. “Perhaps,” she conceded. She lowered her hands into her lap. Neville remembered his overdue concern for her health the night before.

“Are you all right, Professor?” he asked. “You have slept as well, haven’t you?”

McGonagall raised an imperious eyebrow. “I have, not that it is for you to worry about, Mr Longbottom. Let us not forget that I am still the teacher and you are the student.”

“Am I though?” Neville asked, trying not to sound insolent. “I mean, isn’t school over? You can’t hold the exams after all this, surely?”

She sighed. “No, we most certainly cannot. Be that as it may, while students remain in the castle, or taking shelter at Hogsmeade, they are still my responsibility. There is still a lot of work to do before we can close the school safely to begin repairs. The Ministry, as you can imagine, is in an uproar. It’ll be a week at least before they recover enough to send anyone to assist. Under the circumstances, with Draco Malfoy having left the castle, and not that I would trust him as far as I could throw him if he hadn’t, I should like to name you _pro tem_ Head Boy. If you are agreeable?”

Neville nodded. He supposed he should have been surprised, or flattered, but he wasn’t. There wasn’t really anyone else.

“Good. I shall need your help determining what help the students need to return to their families, and which need shelter, if their families are dead or missing. I am sorry to ask you this…” she went on, now sounding weary. “But I may also need you to assist with the families of the… of those we lost. I will contact them, of course, but any Muggles will not be able to even see the castle, and we shall have to meet them halfway in some cases.”

“I’ll do whatever you need me to, Professor,” Neville said, trying not to think about Mr Creevey.

“Thank you. I have a list here of some other tasks - I don’t expect you to do them all, of course, merely to delegate and to organise those who wish to help.” She started going through a short pile of parchment on the desk. As she did so, Neville let his eyes wander up towards the portraits on the wall behind her. With a shock that felt as though someone had cursed him in the back, he realised there was one there that hadn’t been there before.

“What’s _he_ doing there?” he demanded, pointing.

It wasn’t even a real painting, only a sketch in a frame. It moved jerkily, the lines shifting only once every second or so, as the figure turned its head to look at him. The mouth moved, but it didn’t speak; perhaps it couldn’t, yet. The effect was extremely eerie.

“Ah,” Professor McGonagall sighed. “The late Professor Snape.”

Neville stopped, frozen. “The late?”

“Yes. You didn’t hear?”

He shook his head, slowly. “No one told me.”

“I spoke with Mr Potter about it last night. His body is still in the Shrieking Shack, I believe - we shall have to collect it at some point today before something happens to it.”

“But what - why - ” Neville stared in barely-disguised disgust at the drawing. “He shouldn’t get a portrait. He wasn’t a real Headmaster. He killed Dumbledore!”

McGonagall shook her head. “According to Mr Potter, it appears we were all rather mistaken about Professor Snape. He was in fact on our side, all along.”

Neville gaped. _Snape_ ? On _their_ side?

“He appears to have been secretly aiding us the entire time,” she went on. “I suppose I should be impressed at the believability of his disguise, though I must admit I still find the whole situation appalling.”

“Now, now, Minerva.” It was the portrait of Dumbledore that was speaking. “I could have told you the same thing. Severus was indeed helping Harry all year, with my advice. The defeat of Voldemort would not have been possible without him. I also know that he protected the students as much as possible, this year, where he could do so without bringing suspicion upon himself.”

“Could have fooled me,” Neville said angrily, unable to help himself.  

“Indeed, he fooled everyone,” Dumbledore beamed. “Which of course is the very purpose of a double agent, my boy. Recall that, when he caught you and your friends trying to steal the sword, instead of handing you over to the Carrows, he gave you detention with Hagrid, instead. Almost a bit _too_ obvious, I thought, but he had already had a rather trying day.”

Neville stared. “But what about all the rest of it?” he demanded, feeling his blood heat. “What about what they did to Michael, and Seamus? What about all the little kids - the first years they _tortured?_ ” McGonagall flinched, but he pressed on. “He didn’t do anything to protect them!”

Dumbledore sighed sadly. “Unfortunately, there was little he _could_ do, other than secretly give a boost to Madam Pomfrey’s healing potions,” he said. “You notice, I’m sure, that Professor Umbridge does not have a portrait among us. Hogwarts, it appears, has decided that Professor Snape is worthy.”

“Hogwarts is _wrong_ ,” Neville snapped. “What does the stupid castle know?”

“That’s quite enough, Neville,” McGonagall said, but she didn’t sound angry, only tired. She handed over the roll of parchment, and he took it, careful only at the last moment not to snatch it out of her hand, and nodded. He marched stiffly out of the office, letting the door close gently on its own behind him.

“Oh dear,” she sighed when he had gone.

“Never mind, Minerva,” Dumbledore said, settling back in his frame. “He’s young, still.”

“Actually I was going to say that he’s quite right,” McGonagall said, rather coldly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Albus, I have rather a lot of work to do.”

\----

By the time he got back to Gryffindor tower, most of the anger had worn off. He had, after all, more important things to think about. He read McGonagall’s list on the way, already thinking about how he was going to organise the students who remained into supervising the evacuation of the younger students who were still taking shelter in Hogsmeade. He realised as he reached the Fat Lady’s portrait that he hadn’t been back to the tower since he’d taken shelter in the Room of Requirement a month ago. He wondered if it would feel strange.

Only a few people were there. Harry, Hermione and Seamus were sitting around Parvati, who was curled up on her side on one of the sofas. As soon as he came in, Neville had a terrible feeling. He didn’t need anyone to tell him what had happened. He knew as soon as Seamus got up and came over to him.

“She didn’t make it,” Seamus murmured in his ear, as he hugged Neville around the shoulders. Neville’s breath caught in his throat. Knowing didn’t make it any easier to hear. He patted Seamus on the back, not knowing what else could do, and helped him limp back to the others. Poor Seamus had had a crush on Lavender for a long time, he remembered sadly. They’d even gone to the Yule Ball together, what seemed like centuries ago now.

“I’m so sorry, Parvati,” Neville said softly as he sat down.

Parvati looked even worse than the night before, almost unrecognisable. Hermione was holding her hand, and the cushion under her head was wet with tears. “She wouldn’t have wanted to live like that,” she said, shakily after a long moment. Then, “Padma wants to go home now… but I can’t… I can’t leave her body behind, here.”

“Her parents will take her home soon,” Hermione told her softly. “They’ll take care of her.”

There was a long, horrible silence. “Where’s Dean?” Neville asked, when he couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Left,” Seamus said, low. His face looked much better than it had yesterday, and he smelled of Bruisewort Balm. He looked exhausted however, and his hair still looked dirty. “He’s worried about his Mum. Oh, and Luna said to tell you she went with him.”

Neville flinched, taken aback. His head was suddenly full of the memory of the previous night, of Luna’s hair in his hands, of hurried, desperate kisses, the pounding of his heart in his ears. She’d held his hand through Pomfrey’s examination, and fallen asleep in his arms, despite the nurse’s look of mild disapproval. But now she had left, without saying goodbye? He couldn’t have been in McGonagall’s office for more than twenty minutes...

“You all right?” Seamus asked, and Neville realised he was frowning.

“Oh… no, I’m fine,” he said, rubbing at his forehead. He would see her later, he told himself. He needed to focus. With some effort he dragged himself back into the present. “Um, Professor McGonagall’s asked me to organise some things. If anyone wants to help… we need to figure out who’s here and how to safely get everyone out of Hogsmeade.”

Hermione sighed. ‘I suppose there’s no point bringing any of them back here.”

“Not unless they don’t have anywhere else to go, no,” Neville agreed. “It’s not safe, some of the lower levels are being held together by spit and magic, right now.”

“And yet here we are, third highest point in the castle,” Seamus chuckled nervously.

Neville shook out his list. “Evacuating the towers and upper levels is the next thing,” he agreed. “Hermione, can you check Ravenclaw tower and make sure everyone’s out? You’ll be the most likely to be able to get in there. I would have asked Luna...”

“No, it’s fine,” Hermione said.  She reached over and pushed Parvati’s tangled hair back with her free hand. “Will you be all right?”

Parvati nodded into the cushion.

“The House Elves will move our stuff,” Neville said, checking the list again. “We can bunk in Hufflepuff for now. Unless…” he glanced over at Harry and Seamus. “Sorry, I should have asked if you were staying...”

“Nah, I’ll help,” Seamus said quickly. “I’ve owled Mam, she knows I’ll get there when things are sorted out here.”

“Thanks.” Neville smiled at him gratefully. “Harry?”

Harry had been silent since Neville had entered the room. He was wearing a set of what Neville recognised as Seamus’ clean clothes. Neville only now noticed that Hermione was also wearing something in a style unusual for her - Parvati’s, he guessed. His own things he had managed to sneak out of the dormitory into the Room of Requirement, and he’d already heard that the Room had been destroyed by a fire during the battle. So that was it for all his clothes and books, not that it seemed to matter at all. Maybe Seamus could lend him something, as well.

“I’ll stay as long as I can,” Harry said, nodding.

“All right.” Neville took a breath. “Let’s get everyone rounded up in the Great Hall. I’ll explain the rest when we’re all together.”

\---

By the end of that day, they had a list of students in the castle and in the temporary shelter set up in Hogsmeade. Several had already been picked up by their parents, as news of the Battle had apparently made it into the _Daily Prophet._ Those who were left were mostly Muggleborn, or for whatever reason their parents could not get to them. In the afternoon, Harry had left in the company of Kingsley Shacklebolt, who had apparently returned from the ongoing chaos at the Ministry. Lavender’s body had been taken away by her parents, and the Patil twins had gone to make their own way home. Neville, Seamus and Hermione and Terry Boot, who had also elected to stay, slept that night in a first-year Hufflepuff dormitory. When they woke up, fresh clothes had been laid out by someone - a House Elf, Neville assumed, and they put them on without knowing who they belonged to.

While McGonagall and a few of the other teachers went to personally escort the Muggleborn students home, one by one, the remains of Dumbledore’s Army watched over the last few bodies to be removed. Colin Creevey, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks and Anthony Goldstein. The hospital wing was also empty: Justin Finch-Fletchley had been transferred to St Mungo’s Hospital that morning.

The Goldsteins came, Anthony’s mother tearful, his father stonefaced. Terry spoke to them, as he had known Anthony best out of all of them. They were short in their responses, and left almost as soon as they had come.

“Harry all right, d’you reckon?” Seamus asked Hermione as they picked unenthusiastically at their dinner. They were all tired, not just physically but mentally. Sleep wasn’t enough to rest properly, particularly when they woke themselves or each other by reliving the fighting in their sleep. Neville in particular kept dreaming about Colin, small and lifeless, inexplicably heavy in his arms.

“I’m sure he’s fine.” Hermione looked as though she was more hopeful than sure.

“Why’d that man go off with him?” Terry asked.

“Kingsley’s an Auror. He needs Harry to explain what happened to people at the Ministry.”

“Reckon he’s coming back tonight?” Seamus wondered aloud. “Harry, I mean.”

“Well, I doubt he’d go to the Weasleys, now,” Hermione sighed. “If he doesn’t, I’ll go and find him tomorrow.”

“They’ll kick us out tomorrow anyway,” Terry guessed. “There’s not much more we can do here.”

Neville nodded agreement. He was just about to put one more effort into finishing his lamb, when Hagrid came into the near-empty Hall, looking solemn and glancing around as though looking for someone.. “What is it, Hagrid?” Hermione called over.

“Ah… well, young Dennis Creevey an’ ‘is dad are on t’other side of the gate… poor fellow can’t even see the castle... “

Neville’s heart sank. This was what he’d been afraid of, but there was no avoiding it now. He sighed. “McGonagall’s not back yet - all the teachers are down at Hogsmeade. I’ll come, Hagrid. Can you carry Colin?”

“‘Course.” Hagrid’s voice was shaky but he drew himself up. “Are y’sure?”

“Neville, you don’t have to…” Hermione started.

“Yeah,” Seamus agreed, starting to get up. “We could…”

“No,” Neville said firmly. He pushed his plate aside and stood up. “I’ll do it.”

In the antechamber, Hagrid picked up the small body easily. It was wrapped in a white sheet and the room had been magically protected against decay. When Neville touched Colin’s hand through the sheet to tuck it in, it was cold, but not stiff, as though he were just sleeping.

They walked silently through the grounds to the gates. Neville could hear Hagrid sniffling at intervals, but he didn’t say anything. He was too busy thinking about what he was going to say to Colin’s father.

Mr Creevey was waiting with Dennis near the gate, standing outside a small van with a large logo on the side. It looked very out of place, on the side of a hill in the Scottish countryside. The man gasped and stood up straight when Neville and Hagrid emerged - probably as if from nowhere. Dennis, who could see the castle, only watched silently. Mr Creevey rushed forward a few steps and then hung back, waiting for them to draw level.

“Mr Creevey,” Neville said, low. “I’m Neville Longbottom. I’m a friend of your sons’.”

The white-haired man nodded without looking at him. He was staring at the swaddled shape in Hagrid’s arms. “We drove nine hours,” he said, softly. “As soon as Dennis came home… we drove all the way back.”

Neville swallowed. “I’m so sorry,” he said. He had to try twice, when his voice didn’t work the first time.

Mr Creevey stepped forward and touched the bundle. He pressed his forehead to it, and Neville saw tears streaming down his face.

Dennis appeared at Neville’s elbow, dry-eyed and pale-faced. “Can we take him?” he whispered.

“Of course,” Neville said, putting a hand on Dennis’ shoulder. “Yes, of course you can.”

In the back of the van, blankets had been laid on the metal floor; a makeshift resting place. The sight was hard to take; Neville could imagine poor Mr Creevey taking the time to lay out the blankets before they left from the long drive through the Scottish countryside. When he got in the back to help Hagrid lay the body down, he noticed it was freezing inside despite the heat of the sun, as though the temperature was magically controlled. He supposed it wasn’t magic, though; maybe Muggles had some other way of keeping things cold.

They closed the doors on Colin’s body, and Mr Creevey got back in the driver’s seat without another word. Dennis hesitated before hugging Neville tightly around the waist. Neville held his shoulders while he stood there for a moment, shaking. Then he hurried to get in around the other side, and the vehicle rumbled into life, taking off down the path towards Hogsmeade, in the tracks usually used by the Hogwarts carriages.

Neville managed to wait until Hagrid had closed the gates behind them before he collapsed to his knees, no longer able to hold his own weight. His chest heaved as he fought to breathe. Hagrid knelt beside him and patted his back until he thought his heart would come out his mouth. “Good lad,” Hagrid said through his own tears. “You’ve done well.”

“No, I haven’t,” Neville gasped, his fingers digging into the earth as he gripped at the ground. He felt as though he was falling down an abyss, plummeting through the air, even though he was on solid earth. “I should’ve… I should’ve protected him…”

“Ah, don’t be silly,” Hagrid scoffed, wiping his face and his beard with the palm of his hand. “Ye couldn’t have saved everyone, no more’n Harry could’ve.”

Neville shook his head. Every breath he took felt stolen. He was here, breathing the air, seeing the sunset in the distance. Colin would never see another sunset, never take another breath… Colin was just a boy. Colin had looked up to him. “It should have been me,” he said, his voice breaking in a sob.

Hagrid put one of his big arms around his shoulders. “Now, now,” he chided. “Don’t be daft. There’s no shoulds or shouldn’ts or could have beens in a war like this’n. Trust me, I’ve lived through two of ‘em. Lost friends, aye, lots of friends, and no one deserves to go like that, but there ain’t nothin’ more to do than what ye just did. An’ remember ‘im, and don’t let anyone forget what ‘e died for.”

It was as much of a speech as Neville had ever heard from the old man. He took a deep breath, letting the flood of sorrow subside. He got up, shakily, with Hagrid’s help. “Thanks, Hagrid,” he sighed, wiping his eyes on the back of his sleeve. “You’re right… crying about it won’t help.” Silently he made a promise to himself to check up on Dennis, later.

“Off ye go, then,” Hagrid shooed him gently with his big hands. “I got to help Grawp clean up the mess on the East side. Greenhouses are practic’ly all gone, I’m afraid.”

Neville drew himself up. “We’ll rebuild them,” he said with determination, and made his way back up towards the castle, looking very dark and abandoned in the dim grey light of dusk.


	2. Xenophilius

“Let me put it this way, we’re in a right mess.” Kingsley leaned back in his chair, meeting their eyes one by one. He must have been exhausted, but he showed no sign of tiredness; there was only a slight rumpled quality to his robes. A pile of parchment and memos took up half of the desk in front of him, and the whole office was a mess of boxes and apparently miscellaneous items left behind by Thicknesse, and possibly Scrimgeour. The office had changed hands so many times over the last couple of years, there was no way to tell. “We lost half our Aurors, not to mention the rest of the Departments,” the Acting Minister went on. “Lots of people fled the country, we’re still tracking them down. But we need manpower and we need it now; particularly when we’ve got dozens of Death Eaters to bring in. That’s not to mention clearing out the Dementors and the other Dark creatures that have got their claws in everywhere.” 

“You really think you can get them all?” Ron asked. Neville glanced across at him. It was the first time the three of them had seen each other in the fortnight since the battle. Surprisingly Harry looked no different, but Ron looked older somehow, his brow fixed in a semi-permanent frown as the three of them sat somewhat uncomfortably across from Kingsley’s overburdened desk.

“We’re certainly going to try.”

“Good,” Ron muttered. Behind him, Harry looked up and met Neville’s eyes. Neville wondered if Harry, at least, knew what they were all doing there. He wished someone would have let  _ him  _ know.

The owl requesting their presence at this meeting had been extremely vague, but his Gran had still insisted he wear his best robe. “It’s the Minister for Magic,” she had fussed, magicking out the creases in a robe he’d worn to some old family member’s funeral several years ago. 

“It’s going to be too small for me, Gran,” he’d said patiently, to which she had simply tutted and magically stretched the fabric in places it might not be noticed. The thick black fabric itched and sat uncomfortably on his shoulders, which were much broader than they had been when he was fourteen. Both Harry and Ron were wearing comfortable-looking Muggle clothes, though Ron did look as though his mother had made similar demands; his shoes shone so much it was difficult to look directly at them. 

“As I was saying, however, we need manpower,” Kingsley went on. “Now, usually being an Auror requires a full suite of NEWTs and at least two years initial training, followed by a year’s probationary period where you would shadow someone senior. Under the circumstances however, I’m going to be taking volunteers. I’ll cut to the chase - I’d like the three of you, and I’d like your suggestions for other young people who might be interested. Of those of us who are left, nearly half are over sixty. I’m having to drag people out of retirement as it is.” 

By the time Neville had decided that Kingsley wasn’t joking, Ron had already nodded. “I’m in. Harry?” 

Harry looked back at him, raising one eyebrow. Perhaps something  _ had  _ changed, Neville thought, in the midst of a haze of confusion over what was going on. Maybe it was his imagination, but the lightning-bolt scar on Harry’s forehead seemed less noticeable than it had been a couple weeks ago. “Hermione will kill you,” Harry said to Ron, calmly. “You know she wants you to go back to school in September.” 

“Yeah, well.” Ron shrugged. “She is not actually, despite what she might think, the boss of me. What good will another year of school do?  _ This _ will actually be useful.” 

“Sorry,” Neville broke in, unable to help himself. He still couldn’t quite believe the conversation they were having. “Can I just… just checking… you’re asking us to be Aurors? Right now? With no training, or anything?” 

“We’ll train you on the job,” Kingsley said, flatly. “It’s not ideal. And dangerous, and extremely unprecedented. We’re desperate.” 

“Thanks,” Ron said, rolling his eyes. 

Neville remembered, when he’d been about eight or nine, he’d wanted to be an Auror. His Gran had always told fantastical stories about his parents, his father in particular, taking down Dark Wizards. To listen to her you’d think they defeated all the original Death Eaters single-handed. Wanting to make them proud, and to make his Gran proud, he’d briefly entertained the idea of following in their footsteps. He might even have kept a sense of that dream when he’d started Hogwarts. Whatever dream he might have had however, had been dashed a long time ago when he discovered that he was not the brilliant, perfect student his father had been. That he was afraid of most things, and an easy target for people like Snape and Malfoy. And of course he hadn’t been able to do Transfiguration at NEWT level, let alone get the O which was required to get anywhere near the Auror program. He hadn’t even considered it a possibility. 

“Sorry,” he said again, making a hesitant gesture at himself. “But… I mean...well, Harry and Ron I understand, but…” he swallowed, not sure how to articulate the feeling that he was wholly unsuited for such an opportunity without sounding cowardly.

“I saw you that night,” Kingsley said, looking at him with a perfectly serious expression. “And don’t think I haven’t heard what you’ve been up to, all year. You can fight, kid, and you fight smart. We need that around here. Were you planning on going back to Hogwarts?” 

“I.. hadn’t really thought about it,” Neville admitted. He’d been too busy at Hogwarts and St Mungo’s over the last two weeks to think that far into the future. Maybe Ron was right, he thought. If they were allowed to go back in September, it seemed like the sensible thing to do, but what for? To get his NEWT in Herbology? Then what? 

“Well, I guess I’m in too,” Harry said, into the awkward silence. “It’s what I wanted to do, anyway, might as well get a head start.” 

Ron nodded, stiff and determined. 

“Neville?” Kingsley prompted. “Do you want some time to think about it?” 

Neville hesitated. Harry and Ron both looked at him expectantly. 

“No,” he said, finally, feeling rather as though he was stepping off a cliff. “No, I’ll do it.” 

“Good.” Kingsley reached inside his desk drawer and tossed an official pass to each of them. “You start tomorrow.” 

\----

“You won’t believe what happened earlier,” Neville sighed when, a couple hours later, he joined Professor Sprout in the foundations of what would eventually become the new Greenhouse One. “I’m afraid I’m going to have less time to help, from now on.” He explained the morning’s meeting while they checked on the small collection of plants they’d been able to salvage from the wreckage. It was pitiful, but it would be something to start from once they were able to start planting in earnest. First they would have to build four new Greenhouses, though they had already done a lot of work on the design, and Neville was already a little jealous of the students who would be able to use them in the new school year. 

“Well, that sounds like a good opportunity,” Professor Sprout said, placatingly. “What will your Gran think?” 

“Oh, she’ll be over the moon, probably,” Neville sighed. “Doing what Dad did, and all that. It’s all pretty rushed, that’s all. It’s come out of nowhere. Why’d he even pick me? It’s not something I wanted to do. It’s not like I  _ wanted _ to have to go into hiding in my own school and start a guerilla war against my own teachers.”

“And yet…?” Professor Sprout seemed amused. Out of all his Professors, she was one he considered just as much of a friend. He had great respect for her as a master of the craft, but she also spoke to him like an adult, and had always encouraged him to excel in her subject, which even Professor McGonagall, who wasn’t nearly as scary to him now as she had been in his first few years of school, had never really tried to do.

“Well, it’s important,” Neville sighed. “Ron’s right - we can’t just let them get away, if we can help.” Ron, he thought, also had a strong personal reason for wanting to be involved. An explosion had killed Fred; there was no one person to blame. Every Death Eater, werewolf or giant who got away probably felt like less justice for his brother. But that didn’t mean he was wrong. 

He kept thinking back to standing side-by-side with Ron, as they fought Greyback until he went down over the wall. He hadn’t wanted to kill anyone, not even a monster like Greyback. But if they hadn’t, Lavender’s family might have been left in fear, wishing for justice. On the other hand, as an Auror he might not have a choice whether he had to kill someone. That was worrying. 

\---

Kingsley had not been joking about being thrown into the deep end of things. The Dementors had to be chased out of Azkaban, so that the Muggleborns and other innocent prisoners there could be freed, and the captured Death Eaters currently crammed into the limited space in the Ministry cells could be transferred. 

“Should have been done days ago,” muttered the older short-haired witch who briefed them all on Monday morning. She had introduced herself to the three newcomers, rather curtly, as Galasia Tufty. “Dozens of Muggleborns locked up in Azkaban, and their families clamouring for their release, not to mention at least ten Aurors.” 

“Who we would have needed to stand any real chance against a hundred Dementors,” grunted another Auror. He hadn’t introduced himself, but Neville had heard the others call him Rothers. Like Tufty, he had hair streaked with silver. 

“Our four reinforcements will have to do,” Tufty said, casting a doubtful look towards the Gryffindors. 

Neville exchanged nervous glances with Seamus. Kingsley had also offered him an invitation, on Neville’s suggestion, and he had accepted on a temporary basis. “Anything for something to do, mate,” he said when they met up later. “Driving meself mad, just sitting around..” 

They knew it would not be an easy mission. You needed happy memories to cast a Patronus, the only defence against Dementors, and happy memories were not easy to come by, these days. 

“Heard from Dean?” Neville asked, as they sat in the boat in the middle of the North Sea. He hadn’t realised how long the journey would be, but it already felt like they had been bobbing up and down on the water for hours.

“Yeah, he’s okay,” Seamus said, low. “Staying in a hotel with his mum and dad and all his brothers and sisters. They were all hiding in Wales.” 

“Oh, good.” Neville hesitated. Ron and Harry were both listening, understandably interested in the conversation. “Do you er… know if Luna’s still with him?” he asked, as casually as he dared.

Seamus shrugged. “He didn’t say.”

“Reckon something’s going on with them?” Ron wondered aloud, unaware of the way Neville’s stomach twisted at the innocuous thought. “They got pretty close at Shell Cottage.” 

“Oh?” Neville tried to sound just as mild. It seemed ridiculous to be concerned, when they were facing a bunch of angry, hungry Dementors. 

“Dean and Luna?” Seamus made a face. “No way.” He was pale and his knee was jumping up and down a bit against the deck. He looked as though he was relieved to have a distraction.   

“But -” 

“Quiet,” Rothers called back over his shoulder. They hadn’t been the only ones talking, but they settled into silence anyway. He could see Harry glowering a little at the unfairness, but Neville was still thinking about Luna. Wondering where she was and what she was doing. Whether she was thinking about him. He was starting to wonder if she had just kissed him because she felt sorry for him, which, the more he thought about it, was pretty offensive. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t realise they were within sight of the prison until he heard Seamus mutter “Bloody hell…” 

Looking up, they saw the tall, wide tower rising out of the ocean in the distance. Even this far away, it looked ominous. “Should we be doing this in broad daylight?” Neville wondered aloud, speaking in a hushed whisper to the others. 

“Won’t make any difference,” Harry replied, low. His eyes were fixed on the distant tower, something strange in his expression. “Dementors don’t have eyes. They’ll sense us as soon as we’re close enough.” 

“Oh, right.” Neville swallowed. 

An Auror sitting near them, one of the few younger ones, turned towards them. “You wouldn’t want to do this at night,” he said, offering an encouraging smile. He was in his thirties, perhaps, a tall wizard with long black hair tied into a ponytail. It was an unusual style for a young wizard, let alone an Auror. “Use the sun to help fuel your happy thoughts.” 

They all looked dubiously up at the sky, which was grey and overcast. 

“Well, the daylight, anyway,” the Auror amended. He offered a hand to Harry, who was sitting closest. “Ralph Williamson,” he introduced himself. “It’s a real honour to have you with us, Mr Potter.” 

Ron snorted. “Tell Tufty that.” 

“Oh, her bark’s worse than her bite,” Ralph waved a hand dismissively. “It’s Rothers you have to watch out for.” 

“Ugh,” Seamus groaned. When Neville looked over at him, his face had gone rather green. “Does it have to be so bumpy?” 

Neville reached inside his robe and handed him a couple of what appeared to be stringy, purpling weeds. 

Seamus made a face. “Er…” 

“Just chew it,” Neville told him. “I knew at least one of us would get sick out here. Don’t swallow it, just spit it out when you feel better.”

Seamus sighed. “Don’t make me regret trusting you on this.” He reluctantly put the plants in his mouth and chewed. After a minute, his face cleared up and he was visibly more relaxed. Various other Aurors quietly expressed interest, and by the time they reached the island, Neville had exhausted his supply. He hoped no one felt really ill on the way back. 

As they eased into the dock, Rothers and another older Auror named Savage stepped up to the front and slipped quietly onto the wharf. They were the mission leaders, and the others waited for their signal to proceed. In two lines they moved quickly and quietly up the wharf towards the island, which was surrounded by large, sharp-looking rocks. There was very little land area that wasn’t taken up by the prison itself, an immense structure that loomed over them like a sleeping giant. 

“How do we get in?” Seamus muttered in an undertone. 

“Rothers has the keys and the spell combinations,” Ralph whispered back. They could just about see Rothers at the head of the group, jabbing and waving his wand at the gate. 

“Looks complicated,” Ron murmured. Someone from behind shushed him. Beside him, Neville felt Harry tense. The gate was opening. 

“On guard.” The whispered command was carried down the line. Following the example of the other Aurors, the Gryffindors drew their wands and advanced forward. 

The inside of the prison was just as dank, dark and forbidding as the outside. Neville gripped his wand tightly and stayed close to the others. They climbed several sets of stairs without seeing anyone, human or Dementor. The grey light coming through the windows didn’t do much to dispel the gloom of the place, but Neville had to agree with Ralph - he wouldn’t have wanted to go into the place at night. 

After what seemed like half an hour of climbing stairs and walking corridors, they finally reached the cells. The first few were empty, but then they found some that were occupied. Some of the prisoners came up to the bars and begged to be released, others stayed where they were, apparently oblivious to the band of Aurors trudging through the place. Rothers had a list; he directed some of the Aurors to release and evacuate those prisoners who were not supposed to be there. These included, to Neville’s horror, some women and even children. He’d been told about the Muggleborns kept prisoner for ‘stealing’ magic, but he hadn’t pictured anything so bad as this; whole families, hollow-eyed and terrified, clinging to each other as they were gently led outside and back to the boat in groups. He wondered if any of them were relatives of people he knew. 

He was so distracted by these horrors that he nearly walked into Harry, who had stopped suddenly outside one of the cells. “Mr Lovegood?” he called. That caught Neville’s attention immediately, and he turned to look inside. The prisoner wore dirty yellow robes and had white hair made grey with grime. He was looking up at Harry with some confusion, and something in his expression was very familiar, for some reason. “Mr Lovegood, it’s me, Harry,” Harry said, beckoning. The man inside - Neville could only assume this was Luna’s father - did not approach, only stared suspiciously at Harry. 

“I don’t know you,” he said hoarsely. “Why are you here?” 

Harry opened his mouth as though to protest, but Ron caught his arm and whispered urgently in his ear. Neville thought he heard the words “...wiped his memory…”. Looking back at Lovegood, he felt a shiver go down his spine, realising what he recognised. There was something in the puzzled, half-familiar look on the man’s face that reminded him of Lockhart, and even in some ways of his parents, as though they were searching for something that was just out of reach of their conscious mind. 

Ralph came over with a key and unlocked the cell, ushering Mr Lovegood out. Other people were still being released up and down the cells. “Where are they?” Seamus muttered, and they all knew he meant the Dementors. 

“They wouldn’t leave, would they?” Harry said, frowning. “Not with all these souls here to feed on?” 

“Maybe they weren’t strong enough to get back from Hogwarts,” Ralph suggested, but looked doubtful. “Come along, sir,” he said, more loudly, encouraging Mr Lovegood to lean on his arm. “I’ve got him,” he said to Harry, who would have helped. “You lot help bring up the rear guard. This might actually turn out to be a lot easier than we thought.” 

“That’d be a first,” Ron muttered, as they made their way to the back of the group. Some of the prisoners still remaining were starting to set up a clamour, howling for their inclusion in the evacuation. 

“Shouldn’t we take them all?” Neville asked. He felt sick; he wished he’d brought more of the  _ Gilboa  _ plants. “Surely we can’t leave anyone here… with no one to look after them?” 

“Only what’s not on the list,” another Auror hissed, a witch called Proudfoot. “The rest can be sorted out later, once the innocent are out and we’re sure the Dementors have taken off. We can’t risk someone taking a jump off the boat.” 

Neville swallowed. He reminded himself that some of the people here were probably actual criminals, and ones that the Voldemort or his people hadn’t seen fit to release, either. He knew he wouldn't want the Lestranges let out, if they’d still been prisoner there. It was still difficult to hear people scream for mercy as they made their way out. 

As they reached the gate, however, it soon became clear there was another problem. Neville felt it before anyone said anything; the chill in the air that sucked the breath out of his body, the way even the greyish light seemed to dim to almost nothing, the feeling of hopelessness and despair he had come to know only too well. “They’re here,” he heard Harry say, darkly. 

“Aurors to me!” Rothers shouted from the front. As one, they moved through the crowd of frightened prisoners to stand together, forming a human shield. What Neville saw then was enough to make even a seasoned Auror feel faint of heart. More than a hundred Dementors were hovering on the water’s edge, between them and the wharf. Their only route to the boat was completely cut off. 

“Move aside,” Rothers demanded, raising his own wand towards the creatures. “We are releasing these prisoners; your presence on Azkaban is no longer required. Begone!” 

Neville had only a moment to marvel at the man’s courage before there was a fresh horror; one of the foremost Dementors floated forward to face the old Auror. A low hissing noise issued from beneath its cavernous hood. It took a moment for his brain to register that it was not just a hiss, it was a word, gutteral and almost indecipherable, but the Dementor was  _ speaking.  _

“ _ Oursssssss.” _

The wind had died down, but Neville was suddenly freezing cold, as though he’d been doused in ice water. Dark thoughts began to enter his mind, and they didn’t have far to go, sitting as they were just beneath the surface; Colin’s pale, dead face, Mr Creevey’s tear-streaked face as he drove away. Parvati sobbing over the loss of her best friend, who had died mutilated and in pain. Watching Michael being tortured and being completely unable to help him; seeing the Carrows hurting the rest of his friends, Crabbe and Goyle taking out their own anger on him in their turn, seeing them standing over him as they administered the Cruciatus Curse, terrified that he would go mad, like his parents… his parents… seeing his parents the day after he’d gotten home, knowing that for them, nothing had changed, they still didn’t know who he was… they never would…

“Neville!” Harry was grabbing his arm. “Snap out of it.” 

Neville flinched and brought himself back to the present. Around him the other Aurors were raising their wands, ready for the attack. Silently cursing himself for leaving himself open and vulnerable, Neville raised his own wand, frantically trying to dredge up a memory that was full of anything but pain and despair. Nothing recent, surely. Between the funerals of people he had known, trying to comfort their family and friends, and the rebuilding, walking through the school he’d used to love standing in piles of rubble… 

Well, perhaps one thing. There was guilt there now, and some doubt, and he hadn’t been exactly  _ happy  _ in that moment, but it might be enough. 

He risked a half a second to close his eyes. Tried to imagine the smell of cork and oranges. It was very difficult, through the cold and the heavy, miserable feeling that the Dementors settled over them like a blanket, over the sound of the waves and the salt smell of the sea. 

“Here they come,” Seamus gasped. 

“Keep it together,” Harry said. He sounded insanely calm. The confidence in his voice was enough to give Neville a boost. Luna’s lips had felt so very soft… she’d had to stand on tiptoe to kiss him, which was somehow adorable, and when his hands had found their way inside her robe, she had leaned into them, and they had clung to each other like it was all that mattered in the world at that moment. He found a linked memory, caught at it. The last time she’d worn the lion’s head hat, sixth year maybe, she’d said something teasing that had made him laugh. He couldn’t remember what it was, but he’d repeated it later in the Gryffindor common room and they’d all laughed, despite everything that was going on. It was rare that Neville got to make people laugh, even with borrowed jokes, and he’d felt a swell of pride in this small appreciation, in a place where for so long, he hadn’t felt truly accepted. 

The Dementors were swarming up the bank towards them, spreading out, hands outstretched. 

“NOW!” Rothers yelled, and as one the Aurors incanted at the top of their lungs: “ _ Expecto Patronum!”  _

Silvery light shot from thirty wands. Most was insubstantial mist. A few complete shapes, some small, some large, went barrelling into group of Dementors, breaking their line. One, an enormous silvery stag, whirled about for a second go. 

Neville’s first mist hit a Dementor in the face, making it scream horribly and recoil, before fading away.  From the looks of it however, neither Ron nor Seamus had managed anything at all. Harry put a hand on Ron’s shoulder and whispered to him urgently; the taller boy’s freckled face was very pale, his eyes fixed forward on the approaching army of Dementors - the Patronuses had caused some chaos in their ranks, but they were already regrouping, even while twisting and shifting to get away from the galloping silver stag and what appeared to be a giant silver hawk bearing down on them. 

Neville turned to Seamus. “You okay?” he panted, wondering when he’d stopped breathing. 

Seamus shook his head. “I got nothing,” he croaked, switching his wand to his left hand and shaking out his right, as though that were the problem. Suddenly Neville was no longer out of his depth; he was simply running a practical DA meeting. 

“Sure you do,” he said, forcing a smile onto his face. Around them, more corporeal Patronuses were coming forth on the Aurors’ second or third try - with each one, the oppression around them lifted a fraction. “We can do this. We’ve done it hundreds of times. Come on.” 

Seamus nodded stiffly, rallying himself for another go. Neville gathered together his own thoughts, searching for the happy ones - his joy when he had received an O for his Herbology OWL, and the times he was happiest, when he was tending to the plants in the Greenhouses, peaceful and satisfying, with Professor Sprout sometimes there to talk to or share a cup of tea. Brief moments spent with friends, with Ginny and Luna especially, finally feeling like he was no longer an outsider, like he was worthy of inclusion, of friendship…

He and Seamus raised their wands together. “ _ Expecto Patronum! _ ” This time the effect was instantaneous. A silver fox dashed between the legs of a huge silver male lion, which bounded forward into the lion of Dementors, bowling several of them over. It roared - a sound which surely had never been heard on the island until now, and leapt at another group, opening wide its jaws. A couple of the hooded figures flailed their scaly hands and vanished into the air. The fox bit and snapped at where their ankles might have been, making them dart away, and some of them actually lost their balance, tripping over each other in attempts to get away. Neville found himself actually laughing at the sight, and he heard Seamus chuckling beside him. 

The silvery hawk cried aloud in victory as the Dementors were driven back into the sea, and whirled back to land imperiously on Rothers’ shoulder. As the last few dark creatures made their escape, the stag whacking at them with its antlers, the rest of the army of Patroni gradually retreated. A silver greyhound came up to Ralph to be patted. The fox pranced its way back to Seamus and did a figure eight between his legs before fading away. 

The lion, after satisfying itself that there was nothing left to hunt, padded back along the shore, leaving deep cat-like footprints in the grey sand between the rocks. It came up to Neville and nuzzled at his shoulder. Magically insubstantial as it was, Neville could feel the tickle of its whiskers and its mane against his cheek. “You got big,” he said, not at all frightened, as he definitely would have been if a real lion had put its mouth so close to his head. He reached up to touch it under the chin, and it vanished. 

“ _ You got big? _ ” Seamus repeated, incredulously. “Seriously?” 

Neville shrugged. He looked over at Harry and Ron. Ron looked furious, and simultaneously seemed to be about to faint; he didn’t seem to have tried his Patronus a second time, despite Harry’s urging. There wasn’t time to talk, however, as Rothers was directing them to help the freed prisoners down the wharf towards the boat. Neville found himself supporting Mr Lovegood, while Seamus ushered a woman with a young child to the bow. “I know you, don’t I?” Lovegood asked, peering at Neville even as he sat down on one of the forward benches. “I’ve seen your face.” 

“Er… I don’t think so,” Neville said. He looked back towards the beach. As the last people were loaded onto the boat, Rothers was instructing a group of five Aurors who were to remain on the island to care for the remaining prisoners until reinforcements could be sent. The big pawprints in the grey sand had vanished. Maybe they had never really been there after all. “I’m friends with your daughter,” Neville admitted, when Lovegood continued to frown at him. 

“Ah.” That seemed to satisfy him, even though Neville was still sure they had never met before. 

There was more noise on the boat as they set off this time, and no one shushed them. They were all glad to be clear of the island. Large rations of chocolate were shared out among everyone, which helped to clear the terrible cold from the inside. “Won’t they come back?” Seamus asked, leaning over the back of his seat. 

“Possible, but I doubt it,” Ralph put in, grinning. His face was covered with sweat, or sea spray, it was hard to tell. In fact they were all rather damp. “Not after the show we just gave them! Wasn’t that ripping?” 

“Ah, it was satisfying all right, but I’d rather not have to do it again,” Seamus shuddered. “Ugh. Dementors. Whoever thought it was a good idea to let them guard a prison?”  

“But what Patronuses!” Ralph went on. “That stag - and that lion! I’ve never seen anything like that - Dementors going over like bowling pins! Brilliant.” 

Neville privately thought that Ralph might have had a bit more chocolate than the rest of them. He couldn’t bring himself to feel quite so elated. He looked over to where Harry and Ron had been to see Ron sitting alone, with a face like thunder. 

“He needs a minute.” Harry had appeared at Neville’s elbow. 

“Is… he okay?” 

Harry looked over at his friend. “He thinks he failed, I think.” 

Neville frowned. “His brother  _ just  _ died,” he said, in an undertone that only the two of them could hear. “Who’d be able to do a Patronus after that?” 

“I know,” Harry sighed. “He’s struggling, but he won’t talk about it. He just wants to punch something.” 

“Too bad you can’t hit Dementors.” 

Harry snorted. “You could try, but I wouldn't recommend it.” 

Neville shuddered. “Ugh.” 

“Hey.” Harry gave him a proud sort of smile. “I’ve never seen that Patronus before. Very cool.” 

Neville flushed. “Oh, well. I almost didn’t manage it.” 

“But you did.” Harry bumped his fist against Neville’s shoulder. “Nice work. I told Kingsley you’d be great at this.” 

Neville rolled his eyes and grinned. He should have known Harry was behind the surprise job offer. 

When they got back to the Ministry around mid-afternoon, there was already a crowd gathered. Word had evidently gotten out that the prisoners would be returning. There were a lot of hugs and tears as families were reunited. Neville was starting to wonder whether they would be there all night, when Mr Lovegood let out a happy cry from beside him, and Luna was there. She left the floor as she threw her arms around him, and they buried their heads in each other’s shoulders. Neville felt rather guilty for being there, and averted his eyes. He could see Harry and the others doing the same.

“You found him!” Luna exclaimed, and when he looked up she was looking right at him. 

“Er…” he protested, awkwardly, glancing around to the others, but no one offered him any help whatsoever. Seamus raised his eyebrows and gave him an encouraging head-jerk. “Ah,” Neville turned back to Luna, who was beaming at him. “It was actually more of a… I mean, we were all…” 

Before he could say anything else, however, she was in his arms. He was vaguely aware of Seamus whistling loudly behind him, but it hardly mattered, with her hand around the back of his neck, and the scent of cork and oranges - dampened only a little by the ocean smell coming from his own clothes - and most importantly the softness of her lips on his… 

“All right, break it up, break it up.” 

Neville tried to disentangle himself, but Luna had quite a grip on his hair. “Sorry, Mr Rothers…” 

“A  _ little  _ propriety, Mr Longbottom…” Rothers’ face was extremely unimpressed, though it was rivalled by the enormous grin Seamus was wearing. 

“Did _ not  _ see that coming,” Ron muttered. 

“You should take your Dad home,” Neville told Luna. His face was hotter than he could ever remember; he was sure he was red as a beetroot. “Go on.” 

She leaned up on tip-toe to whisper in his ear. “I’ll see you later.” Then, still smiling at him, she led her father away by the arm. 


End file.
